The Brick Dollhouse (Tony Martinez, 1967)

Do you like boys? Do you like to get high? Do like nude parties? Do you like orgies? If you answered yes to all of these questions, than you'll feel right at home with the sophisticated ladies who populate the hedonistic world of David F. Friedman's The Brick Dollhouse, a movie that was, according to its promising tag line, "filmed in color so you can see it as it is." A fast-paced thrill ride filled with intrigue, lust and more plot twists than a Kafka novel... are words you will never hear bandied about in association with this movie. Oh, and by the way, are Kafka novels known for having plot twists? You know what? Never mind, as I bet this film isn't Kafka-esque in the slightest. No, the words you will probably hear in association with this movie are as followed: Pedestrian, asinine, pathetic and ramshackle. However, there's no way in hell I'm going to use any of those words. You wanna know why? What do you mean, no? Whatever, man, I've come too far to stop now. The reason I'm not going to use any of those words is because this film is aesthetically superior to almost ninety percent of everything that's ever existed. Sure, the film is severely lacking in a few key areas... (A few?) Okay, it's lacking in a shitload of key areas. But you can't look me in the eye and tell me this film doesn't ooze aesthetic perfection.

Not really a film in the classic sense of the term, The Brick Dollhouse is basically a series of scenes cobbled together in order to showcase the unique styles of the late 1960s. Yet, to comply with the rigid standards that state that films should be "about something," David F. Friedman (the brains behind the whole operation) asked screenwriter Joe Delg to concoct some cockamamie story revolving around the murder of a fashion model. But make no mistake, this film is about shooting on the cusp of being chichi women with fierce hair smoking pot at pot parties, cha-cha dancing at pot parties and playing strip spin the bottle... at pot parties.

When the film opens, and we see the principal cast coming home from another one of these wild pot parties. Three women, Sherry West (Peggy Ann), Danielle Dubois (Janice Kelly) and Carmen Espinoza (Tina Vienna), enter the room of Min Lee (Joyana), only to find her lying topless on her bed with an apparent gun shot wound to the thorax.

Judging by the shocked facial expressions each woman displays after seeing Min Lee's dead body, it's obvious that Danielle Dubois is going to be my favourite character.

I mean, the way she puts her finger in her mouth (a clear attempt on her part to stifle the scream that was surely forthcoming) was off the charts in terms of  adorableness.

It was obvious that Danielle Dubois was David F. Friedman's favourite as well, as she gets the bulk of the attention in the early going. Filming her taking a shower, filming her getting dressed, filming her... Well, you get the idea. David F. Friedman and I both love Danielle Dubois and we don't care who knows it.

I want to say Janice Kelly was chosen to do most of the film's heavy lifting, dialogue-wise, because she's the best actress. But I'm afraid I can't do that. It's simply, really, I caught Janice Kelly on several occasions looking directly at the camera. And I'm not talking about the kind of fourth wall breaking Tracey Adams gets up to in Invasion of the Samurai Sluts from Hell, where it's evident she's doing it on purpose. No, every once and a while I would notice Janice Kelly stare right into the lens. Anyway, I'm not going to let the fact that Janice Kelly breaks a number of acting rules in this movie diminish my admiration for her as a human being.

After Min Lee's body is taken away, Lt. Parker (George French) tries to piece together the events that lead up to Min Lee's death by interviewing her housemates.

Starting off with, of course, Danielle Dubois–you know, because she's awesome–Lt. Parker asks her tell him all about Min Lee. Lounging leggily on a chair, Danielle tilts her head slightly and noodles with the question for a few seconds. Instead telling Lt. Parker all about Min Lee, she goes on this long tangent about taking a shower.

Actually, now that I think about it, I don't think the tangent was about Danielle taking shower at all. No, what we're witnessing is a blatant attempt to kill time on behalf of the producers of this film. And, I must say, I have no trouble with this whatsoever. Seriously, I could watch Danielle Dubois take a shower, towel off (yes, slowly pat dry your supple flesh, you sleazy harlot, you), put on makeup, select a pair of panties to wear (she goes with a red pair), select a pair of blue shorts, and pick out a green sleeveless top for hours on end.

While the scene where Danielle Dubois does all these things is no longer than five minutes, it does eat up a lot of time. In fact, I think the movie is already half over.

Attending a pot party, Danielle Dubois lounges topless, smokes from a hookah, and... that's pretty much it. I'm not sure if every scene is going to be like this, but every one so far has been the epitome of pointless.

Take the next scene, for example, after leaving the pot party, Danielle Dubois goes home, gets undressed, and crawls into bed.

The character of Carmen Espinoza has been itching to tell her side of the story to Lt. Parker, but he tells her to wait her turn every time she tries to interrupt him. When he finally does let her speak, he calls her "Miss Chili Pepper." Racist much, Lt. Parker?

My favourite scene in terms of pointlessness is the pool party sequence. Nothing really happens, but the atmosphere is so 1960s, that one might think the whole thing was an elaborate parody of the 1960s.

Featuring great hairstyles, amateur astronomy, hot chicks dancing in bikinis, pool side chess matches, meat being grilled by men with hairy chests, leggy babes doing their nails and pipe smoking, this scene is a real scene, man.

Seemingly going from one pot party to the next, we're quickly whisked to another pot party, this time a modest shindig being held in a garden.

"Is this weed head bothering you?" And with that line, we're introduced to Sandy (Frankie O'Brien), Min Lee's tough-looking lesbian roommate, who rescues her from this so-called "weed head" on several occasions.

At first I was like, "weed head"? That's a bit harsh, don't you think, Sandy? Then we get a good look at this so-called weed head. And, yep, Sandy's right, this guy is definitely a weed head.

At any rate, just when I was ready to declare The Brick Dollhouse to be Janice Kelly's picture, along comes Helena Clayton as Linda Sherman, a gorgeous redhead who speaks with what sounds like a fake English accent.

You see, unlike Janice Kelly, Helena Clayton doesn't look at the camera, and she clearly knows what camp is. Now, I don't know if this was done on purpose or not, but while stripping near a koi pond, Helena throws one of her shoes in the water. Not only was her errant shoe toss campy, it was the funniest, most entertaining thing to happen in the entire movie. And from that moment on, it put me squarely on Team Linda Sherman.

"There's nothing more relaxing than a massage." You said it, Sandy. Now take that unruly-looking massaging device (which I'm sure is available at Obscura Antiques and Oddities for a paltry 1,600 Cdn.) and drag it all over Linda Sherman's pussy.

Who killed Min Lee? Hmm, should I spoil the ending? Nah. If you've got an hour to kill and are not averse to films that boast bright colours and other stuff, you could probably do a lot better than The Brick Dollhouse. On a positive note, I will be seeking out more films that star Helena Clayton, you can count on that. The way she just showed up like that and blew Janice Kelly off the screen was an impressive sight to behold.

A Smell of Honey, a Swallow of Brine! (Byron Mabe, 1966)

Five individuals in A Smell of Honey, a Swallow of Brine! (An Adult Experience!!!) are initially given the go ahead to enter her primary passageway using the appendage of their choice, only to be told to put on the brakes just as they were about to feast on the most succulent cunt humanity has ever produced. Truth be told, the supposed scrumptiousness of her exalted lady crevice is not something anyone can actually prove, as no one has ever tasted the fruits of her vaginal labour. Oh, believe me, many have tried to sample this honey-flavoured treat, but its owner seems to enjoy the act of denying them access to one of the most sought after pussies currently on the market. Whether they be her forthright lesbian roommate or square accountants named Dick, it's almost as if she receives pleasure in keeping all-comers away from her precious genitals. Now, you're probably thinking to yourself: Man, this chick sounds like a real cock-tease (you could call her a "cunt-tease" as well, but we won't, as she mostly teases cocks). Sure, you could call her that. But where does it say in the copulation handbook that women must allow men (and other women), once the heavy petting stage has subsided, to penetrate them? It doesn't. They can refuse to be mounted anytime they want.

Of course, she could be more discreet telling her boyfriends/girlfriends to dismount. But that's not her style. You see, Sharon Winters is a bitch. Now, normally, I wouldn't use the b-word, as I find it to be vulgar and crass. However, Sharon proudly refers to herself as one during the film's most important scene, so, I'll make an exception this time.

Anyway, the scene is important because heterosexual women need to be frank with their forthright lesbian roommates. In other words, massage my bucolic backside all you want. But let's get one thing straight: My clitoris is strictly off limits.

Telling her forthright lesbian roommate, "I may be a bitch, but I'll never be a butch," and proceeding to laugh like a cackling psycho-hosebeast, Sharon lays down the ground rules the only way she knows how: snotty and direct with a dash of cruelty.

While the forthright lesbian roommates in her life, particularly the one's named Paula (Sharon Carr), get a dash of cruelty, the men get an extra helping of the cruel stuff, with, of course, a side order of maliciousness for shits and giggles. In order to be a first-rate cock-teaser, you need to have certain attributes. And, first things first, you need to look good while wearing black stockings. If you can't rock a pair of black stockings, then forget about it, the only cocks you'll be teasing will be the severed one's floating around the trash-laden kiddie pool that is your cock-starved subconscious.

You also need to have great hair.

Possess an ass with a modicum of oomph.

And, of course, it doesn't hurt to have a bad attitude.

The question is: Does Stacey Walker have what it takes to be able to play the kind of woman who can drive a man insane with desire by simply raising one of her eyebrows?

How should I put this? You better fucking believe she does. In fact, I'd go as far as to say that Stacey Walker gives one of the most cock-stirring performances in cinematic history.

Her legs look amazing in black stockings, her hair is the perfect length, her ass has more than enough of oomph, and her bad attitude is second to none. In other words, she's got it all.

It also helps that Stacey's legs look amazing without stockings. And we see part of these amazing legs (her thighs and calves) being groped in the film's László Kovács photographed opening scene. Making out with her current boyfriend, Roy Bradley (Michael O'Kelly) in his car, Sharon Winters (Stacey Walker) decides she doesn't want to go any further and tells him to get off her. When he doesn't comply, she begins to scream. Luckily, a police officer hears her and intervenes.

After Roy is sentenced to two years in prison for rape and assault, Sharon goes home to lounge about in nothing but a black bra and black booty shorts.

It's during the black bra/black booty shorts lounging scene that I first noticed the majestic splendour that is Stacey Walker's floppy blonde hairdo in this movie. I mean, like I said before, the length is perfect. Her hair is long, but it's also short... if you know what I mean.

Even though Paula, her forthright lesbian roommate, has some misgivings about her going on date so soon after the indecent with Roy, Sharon gets ready to go out with Dick Owens (Tom Hughes), an accountant who works in her office. As she's getting ready, we get a nice look at her ass as she makes her way to the bathroom.

Clean as a whistle thanks to the bath she just took, Sharon sits on her bed and puts on a pair of black stockings. As she's attaching the final suspender, Dick knocks at the door. Putting on this ratty-looking bathrobe, Sharon answers the door and immediately offers Dick a drink, as long as its either a beer or a bourbon and ginger (he chooses the latter).

My first impression of Dick is that he's a colossal square. Meaning, he has no business being seen in public with a woman like Sharon. Agreeing with me, Sharon decides to fuck Dick's shit up right away. Of course, how does a woman, even one as beautiful as Sharon, provoke a man who is such a tool? As Sharon says to Paula earlier in the evening, "Dick is not the raping type."

Instructing Dick to tell her a little bit about himself, Sharon forces him to watch her take a bath. The plan is to get Dick all riled up. I don't know if the bath worked. But the sight of Sharon sliding her white panties on afterward had me rolling on the floor in ecstasy. As all this is going on, a band called "Et Cetra" can be heard jamming, Pavement-style, on the soundtrack.

Just as Dick is starting to fumble with her garter belt, Sharon yells out, "Rapist!" Stunned by this turn of events, Dicks falls off the bed and slinks away. As he's slinking away, Sharon giggles quietly to herself.

She does the same thing to her forthright lesbian roommate later on. Only, her post-rape accusation giggle is now a full-on guffaw.

With Dick Owens nowhere in sight, Sharon is introduced to his replacement, a guy named Lowell Carter (Sam Melville). Wasting very little time, Sharon is all over Lowell. (Actually, I think Lowell was the one who approached Sharon.) Whatever. It's obvious Sharon has some sinister plans in store for this Lowell fella.

Her plans for Lowell are sinister, all right, but they're also ambitious. Stringing him along by going on a series of dates, Sharon slowly lulls Lowell into thinking he's about to tap her ass something fierce. But we all know the chances of that happening are pretty slim. Either way, Sharon and Lowell go on a walking date, a movie date, flirt by the water-cooler, frolic in the vicinity of a swimming pool and take a long, scenic drive through the country.

Denying him the delicious poontang he thinks he so rightly deserves after they're done making out on the couch, Sharon sends Lowell home empty-handed.

Cue the erotic fantasy sequences. Unable to seal the deal with Sharon, Lowell resorts to dreaming about her. Some of his dreams involve her being whipped while tied to a pole, while others involve Sharon castrating Lowell while dressed as a dominatrix, Lowell clearly needs to insert his penis in one of Sharon's ready-made orifices. I mean, the guy is starting to lose his mind.

While the whole destroying men and women by accusing them of rape gimmick might work on lovesick twenty year-olds, forthright lesbian roommates and square accountants named Dick (i.e. people on the fringes of society), it's whole different story when it comes to white men of a certain age. Meaning, some of these "white men of a certain age" might not react the way you think after you accuse them of rape. Do you see what I'm getting at? What I'm saying is, not everyone is going to slink away with their cock/strap-on dildo tucked between their legs after you call them a "filthy rapist."

A thoughtful meditation on the power of pussy, A Smell of Honey, a Swallow of Brine! (An Adult Experience!!!) is, simply put, one of the greatest sexploitation films of all-time. Tragically, though, Stacey Walker only made two movies during her brief film career. The other being, The Notorious Daughter of Fanny Hill, which, like this film, was also written and produced by the legendary David F. Friedman.

Space Thing (Byron Mabe, 1968)

Greetings, feeble earthlings. Excuse me while I gingerly gather up the requisite amount of space-related sexual innuendos for my not-so all-nude movie review of Space Thing, the grooviest, most ramshackle chunk of science fiction to hit me squarely on my not quite dimpled chin in weeks. Okay, I've finished collecting. Wow, that was quick. Let me try one right off the bat. All right, here it goes: I would like to land my taupe-coloured skin rocket all over the surprisingly crater-free surface of Cara Peters' ample moon base. Not bad. Though, if your skin rocket is "taupe-coloured," you should really see a doctor about that. Uh, what I mean is, you should really consult a skin rocket scientist immediately. But other than that, I thought it was on the cusp of being good–you know, as far as space-related sexual innuendos go. Actually, now that I think about it, the majority of the space-related sexual innuendos I came up with during my unnecessarily extensive space-centric sexual innuendos fact-finding mission were related to my fully-engorged spackle-making spangle maker redecorating the pristine epidermal layer that covers Cara Peters' spacious buttocks. And why wouldn't they? Have you seen Cara Peters in Space Thing? What am I saying? Of course you have. After all, you're the one currently writing about the epic space adventure film, produced by the legendary David F. Friedman and written by Cosmo Politan, as we speak.

Do you like strong, forceful women with child-bearing hips? Interesting. Okay, how 'bout the substantial thighs that come prepackaged with said child-bearing hips, do they scratch your itch? I see. Where do you stand on large conical breasts? Conical?!? It's a fancy way of saying, "cone-shaped." Even more interesting. Well, I've tallied the results. And judging by answers you gave, I'm afraid to say it, but you're a heterosexual man. What the hell? I don't want to be a heterosexual man; they're so not in right now. Are you sure I'm not gay? I mean, I dig campy chicks who boss around men with hairy backs. If that isn't gay, I don't know what is. No, you're definitely straight. This is bullshit.

Stop sulking, you stupid breeder. Blow me. Oh, and when I say, "blow me," I'm speaking metaphorically. Unless your mouth is shaped like Cara Peters' sensuous gob, 'cause I don't want your thin, mannish, not even close to being bee-stung lips anywhere near my prize-winning genitals. Good golly, would you look at that, I am straight.

If that's the case, how do you explain the fact that the wall of my bedroom as a child was covered in Boy George posters? That I cannot explain. However, you're reaction to Cara Peters in Space Thing is pretty good indicator of your devotion to heterosexuality. Having said that, Cara Peters' character is also a gay icon.

You mean to say that Cara Peters' character in Space Thing is beloved by straight and gay men alike? Not only am I saying that, I'm also saying that Cara Peters' Captain Mother is the de facto leader of the gay-straight alliance I secretly run out of my Aunt Marjorie's basement in Orillia. In other words, it's her sturdy, workmanlike thighs and her dedication to being campy in a space setting that are bringing the gay and straight populations closer together.

What about lesbians? Oh, man. How could I forget them? Are you ready? Cara Peters' Captain Mother, the sexiest spaceship commander to exist on this or any other plane of existence, is, in fact, a lesbian.

Aren't you forgetting someone? Who could that be? Straight women, that's who. Oh, them. I don't think they will get much satisfaction from watching Space Thing. Unless straight chicks dig guys with hairy backs. What's that? Some do, but most don't. Yeah, that's what I figured. Well, I guess you can't please everyone.

Speaking of not being pleased, Marge Granilla (Bambi Allen) can't get her husband, James Granilla (Steve Vincent), to put down those damned sci-fi novels he insists on reading in bed long enough to make sweet, passionate love to her. Now, I was going to go on this long tirade bemoaning the fact that Bambi Allen has fake breasts, but I read somewhere that Bambi died a few years later after this film was made due to complications caused by the silicone in her breast implants. So, as you can see, to whine about her breasts would be in bad taste.

Nevertheless, Marge manages convince her husband to put down his science fiction book and the two of them finally have sex. After they're finished engaging in sexual congress (what surmounted to a ten minute half-naked hug set to bongo music), James continues to read his book.

Imagining the infinite number of worlds that probably exist in the universe during of a moment of post-coital solitude, James quickly whisks us to the far reaches of the galaxy.

It's the year 2069, and James Granilla is no longer a hairy-backed husband with a wife with fake tits, he's now Col. James Granilla, an alien spy on a mission to destroy the Terran spaceship the S.S. Supreme Erection.

Oh, and before Col. James Granilla begins his mission, we're treated to an ultra-cool opening credits sequence that features day-glo lettering written all the over the body of a tanned blonde.

Wearing a gold lamé sleeveless jumpsuit, Col. Granilla hops aboard the Supreme Erection with minimal resistance. Actually, he meets no resistance whatsoever, as the crew see him as just another human male in supersonic sneakers. The only real resistance comes in the form of the dirty look Captain Mother (Cara Peters, aptly credited here as Legs Benedict) throws in Col. Granilla's general direction.

Her voluptuous body sheathed in a skimpy black and silver one-piece, her feet adorned with a pair of silver knee-high boots and her head fitted with a silver bathing cap (one with a hole in the back to allow her ponytail to dangle unmolested), Captain Mother puts her hands on her womanly hips and ponders what to do with this unexpected passenger.

You'll notice that the rest of crew, including Connie (Karla Conway), the brassy one, Portia (Merci Montello), the sassy one, and Astrid (Fancher Fague), the overly tan one, are sporting uniforms similar to one Captain Mother is wearing, except theirs are blue and silver. To give us an idea how they get into these uniforms, we're shown Connie getting into one after taking a space shower.

Not one to waste any time, Col. Granilla immediately gets down to the business at hand. And that is, sabotaging the Terran ship. Being unfamiliar with their ways, Col. Granilla must first learn their customs if he expects to fool the Terrans into thinking he's human. Using his invisibility shield, Col. Granilla observes as Portia has sex with The Cadet (Stan Isfloride), a bitter male crew member with a hairy back. When Captain Mother finds out about this, she strips The Cadet of his rank. You see, according to her, only she is allowed to have sex with the female members of the crew.

When not barking out orders to Willie (Dan Martin), the Supreme Erection's doltish helmsmen, Captain Mother likes to lounge around in purple diaphanous clothing and to don orange headbands. Since lounging has its privileges, Captain Mother. Wait, that doesn't make sense. Let me try that again. Since being the captain of an interstellar space vessel has its privileges, Captain Mother finds herself up to her elbows in guilt-free cunnilingus on a semi-regular basis.

Declaring the men to be off limits, Captain Mother punishes Portia for her cock-based transgression by whipping her on a round bed with psychedelic bed sheets. Groovy sheets, man. Ouch!

In order to get back in the Captain Mother's good graces, The Cadet agrees to fix the ship, which was hit by an asteroid. Since the film's limited budget won't allow us to see The Cadet's spacewalk, we're instead shown the minimalist interior of the ship; check out the chairs in the mess hall, they're simply yellow trashcans turned upside down.

After multiple attempts to sabotage the Terran ship end in failure, Col. Granilla excuses himself from dinner in the mess hall, and puts the ship on a collision course. He doesn't quite get the result he intended, but his actions do force the Supreme Erection to land on a nearby planet.

Maybe my mind was clouded by the thunderous sway of Cara Peters' tantalizing hips, but I think Space Thing might be a bad movie. A what?!? A bad movie. I don't think I've ever experienced this before. Experienced what? A bad movie. What are you talking about? You've seen plenty of bad movies. Yeah, but I always seem oblivious to the fact that they're bad. This is the first time in a long time that I've been acutely aware of a film's badness.

Did it have anything to do with the fact that the chairs in the Supreme Erection's cockpit were simply bar stools? No, I don't think had anything to do with the cheap props. Chalk it up to fake boobs, hairy backs, or even overly tan blondes, but there was definitely something off about this film. That being said, there was nothing off about Cara Peters, as her performance as Captain Mother, like I said, had a unifying quality about it.

Wielding her robust organic structure like it were a ball-peen hammer, Cara Peters' fabulousness in Space Thing will drive you insane. Just insane? Okay, she will cause you to fall into a bottomless pit of epileptic madness. Yeah, I know, if only the film could match the fabulousness Cara was putting out there. But still, for a film that sucks as hard as this one sucks, Cara Peters somehow manages to make everyone in the audience feel like they didn't just piss away seventy minutes of their life. In fact, I was deeply inspired by Cara Peters' turn in Space Thing. Inspired to do what is still anyone's guess, but inspired nonetheless.